Harry stood gaping at his sister as she crumpled to the ground. Terror raged through him. His sister. His sister. She still wore her fear on her face, and a silent scream tore through his chest.

"You see now," Voldemort said, turning to him, "it was foolish to believe a child could hurt me. See how easily I can defeat your sister, Potter? You will be no different." But Calla... She was breathing. Harry was sure she was breathing. She had to be. He couldn't - wouldn't - imagine a world without her. But that terror was more painful than anything he'd experienced.

"Oh, she is alive," Voldemort said, like he had read Harry's mind. "I have need of her yet. But you... I will show you." He smiled that horrible smile and cast his eyes to Wormtail, still quivering. "Untie him, Wormtail, and give him his wand."

Harry was still numb. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his sister, lying there. All he wanted to do was run to her and then run away, but he could hardly even breathe. Voldemort had need of her... He had seen how Calla had responded to him, to his Imperius. She had broken it, which had surprised him, but then... She had still fallen so easily. He flinched as Wormtail set about untying his ropes, and he strained to get himself to his feet, standing taller. There was a split second where he might have considered making a run for it, but his leg was still injured and he couldn't leave Calla, not here, he could never abandon her to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Those Death Eaters grew closer to him now, eager to watch whatever Voldemort was about to do. Wormtail left the circle and returned a moment later clutching two wands, one Harry's and the other Calla's, looking between them. Then he caught Harry's gaze on his own wand and thrust it towards him before scuttling back into his place in the circle. He was still clutching Calla's wand, and fury prickled over Harry at the sight of that traitor's hands on it. He was already lunging forwards, his thoughts telling him to just get Wormtail away from anything to do with his sister. The urge to destroy the people before him made him shake with fury.

"Wormtail," Voldemort said quietly, and, shaking slightly, Wormtail handed Calla's wand to Voldemort, where it rested between his unnaturally long fingers for a second, before he slipped it into his pocket. Only the tip protruded, but Harry kept his eyes locked onto it. "You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked in a soft voice.

All Harry had been taught was Expelliarmus, and by Snape and Lockhart. That second year Duelling Club had been the exact opposite of successful. And what use would it be to Disarm Voldemort, when all of the Death Eaters were surrounding him, and with his bad leg, and when he knew he was up against the thing Moody had warned them most about... the avada kedavra curse. And Voldemort had been right, in something he had said earlier. That Harry and Calla's mother was not there to protect them this time. He was quite unprotected... He looked at where Calla lay, breathing shallowly and crumpled on the grass. He didn't want to die here, especially not if it meant he was leaving her to Voldemort. But Voldemort had said... Something about the World Cup, and Calla being there... Like she could protect him somehow. Well, he didn't know if that was even true, but he knew he had to fight now, if only to protect his sister and not himself. Every angry word they'd spat at each other over the last few months came rushing back in a sickening wave.

His eyes fell back to his sister. Her breathing was shallow and for a horrifying moment he was reminded of that day two years ago in the chamber of secrets, when he had been so sure she was dying. They'd protected each other. He had to fight to protect her and they could get out of here together.

"We bow to each other, Harry Potter," said Voldemort quietly. He inclined his head only a little, keeping his snake-like red eyes fixed on Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed... Dumbledore would want you to show manners... bow to death, Harry."

He would not bow. He decided it immediately. He wouldn't anyway, but seeing what Voldemort had done to his sister - he certainly hadn't observed any niceties when he tried to control her, when he did... whatever it was that he did, and knocked her out. He'd tried to play with Calla, and Harry wasn't going to let Voldemort play with him too, before he killed him. No, he would not give him that pleasure.

"I said, bow," Voldemort said, raising his wand. Harry felt his spine curve as though a hand had suddenly pushed him forward, and he stumbled a little into the circle of Death Eaters, who were laughing harder than ever, as he was forced down. "Very good." As he raised his wand, the pressure on Harry lifted somewhat, but he could still feel it there, lingering. "Now you face me like a man. Straight backed and proud, the way your father died.

"And now - we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand again and before Harry could do anything, he was being hit again by a surge of red light; the Cruciatus Curse. Pain wracked every part of his body, so that he no longer knew even who he was, and it felt like white hot knives were stabbing every single inch of him at once. He was sure that his head was about to burst from the pressure and from the pain, and he was screaming louder than he had ever screamed in his life.

And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet, shaking uncontrollably. He staggered sideways towards the Death Eaters, all of whom were jeering loudly, as they pushed him back, stumbling towards Voldemort. "A little break," said Voldemort softly, "a little pause... that hurt, didn't it, Potter? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry did not say anything. He knew he was going to die; those red eyes were telling him so, pitiless and cruel. But he would not give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing him do as he was told. He was not going to obey Voldemort, and he was not going to beg.

"I asked you whether you want me to do that again?" said Voldemort softly. "Answer me! Imperio!"

And Harry felt again that feeling, like his mind had been wiped clear of all thought and all feeling. It was bliss, to not have to think, and he felt like head floating, dreaming as a voice in his head said just say no... just say no.

I will not, said another voice in the back of his head. I will not answer.

Just answer no.

I won't do it, I won't say it.

Just answer 'no'.

"I WON'T!"

The words burst from Harry's mouth, echoing loudly around the graveyard. His state of dreaming fell away suddenly, shattering like ice. The aches from the Cruciatus Curse rushed back over him, as did the realisation of where he was, who he was with, what was happening. Who he was facing.

"You won't?" asked Voldemort, and his voice was dangerously soft. The Death Eaters had ceased their laughing now. "You won't say 'no'? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die... perhaps another little dose of pain?"

Voldemort raised his wand again, but Harry was ready. Quidditch had taught him good reflexes; he dove quickly behind a statue, and heard it crack loudly as the spell missed. His heart was beating out of his chest.

"We are not playing hide and seek, Harry," Voldemort said softly. He was drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are growing tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry. Come out, come out and play, then... it will be quick... it may even be painless... I would not know... I have never died..."

Harry crouched behind the headstone, knowing this was it. This was the end. He was going to die here, in this place far away from Hogwarts and his friends, Cedric lying a few feet away, his sister crumpled by the nearby statue. But he knew one thing. He was not going to die like this, crouching here in fear, like a child playing hide and seek, he was not going to die without at least trying to live, trying to stop Voldemort, trying to help his sister. Even if no defense was possible... He wasn't going to die like this.

He stood up before Voldemort had a chance to look around and find him, his legs shaking though he tried to hold firm. He gripped his wand tightly, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the side of the headstone to face Voldemort.

Voldemort didn't need to raise his wand; he was ready. As Harry shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort cried out, "Avada kedavra!"

A jet of green light came streaming out of the end of Voldemort's wand, while bright red blasted from Harry's. The graveyard was illuminated, just for a second, and Harry saw his sister writhe silently on the ground, her mouth open in a silent scream. Then the two spells met in mid air, and suddenly Harry's wand was vibrating violently in his hand, like an electric current was surging through it, his hand had seized up around it and he was sure that he couldn't have let go even if he had wanted to. A very narrow beam of light now connected the two wandtips, not green or red, but golden and shimmering. Harry followed the beam, astonished, and saw that it was not only his wand that had reacted but Voldemort's too; both were shaking and vibrating in their owner's hands, and Voldemort looked, too, like he was incapable of letting go.

And then, without warning, Harry felt himself lifted from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being pulled into the air, their wands still connected by that golden thread of light. They were being moved away from the headstones into a quieter clearing, free of graves. The Death Eaters were shouting, asking Voldemort for instructions, not understanding. And Harry didn't understand either.

The golden threads that connected the wands splintered suddenly; though the wands themselves remained connected, a thousand more offshoots arced high above Harry and Voldemort, crossing the night sky like shooting stars in reverse, until the pair of them were seemingly encased in a web of golden light that muffled the cries of the Death Eaters.

"Do nothing!" Voldemort shrieked to the agitated Death Eaters. His eyes were wide with astonishment and Harry could see him fighting to break the thread of light between their wands. Harry held onto his own wand more tightly now, with both hands and the golden thread did not break. "Do nothing unless I command you!"

A sound filled the air, unearthly and beautiful. Harry knew it almost immediately; phoenix song, like that of Fawkes, who had saved him once before. It was the sound of hope, and it filled the cage around them to the very edges of its golden network. It felt as though the song was inside of him, not only around him. It was a sound he connected with Dumbledore, and he could hear his voice in his ear.

Don't break the connection.

I know, Harry told the music, I know I mustn't. But it became altogether much harder to do; his wand vibrated harder than ever, so that he was sure it would fly out of his hand at any moment, and the beam of light changed to tiny beads, sliding between the two. There was another sound in amongst the singing; his sister's voice, whispering something he couldn't make out. His wand shuddered in his hand, as the beads of light began to, slowly but surely, glide towards him instead of Voldemort. He felt his wand shudder angrily.

As the nearest little bead slid nearer to Harry he felt the wand heat up and was sure that it would burst into flames underneath his hand. The closer the bead moved, the harder the wand vibrated, so that Harry had to fight to keep control of it. He focused every part of his mind on forcing the bead the other direction, back towards Voldemort as his ears filled with the phoenix song. And the bead slipped away, and it was Voldemort's hand that was shaking now, shuddering from the powerful vibration of his wand. He looked astonished and almost... almost fearful.

Voldemort's wand seemed to emit screams of pain, and then Harry could hear a voice, his sister's voice, drifting over to him, whispering, "Help." And then a shadowy hand appeared from the wand tip, the hand he had made Wormtail... And something else grew, something dark and smoky, that began to lighten as it formed legs, a torso, a head... It was the body of Cedric Diggory. Harry felt sure he was going to release his wand from shock, but he kept as tight a hold as he could.

The ghost of Cedric Diggory emerged fully from Voldemort's wand, as though being squeezed out of a very narrow tunnel, and this shade of Cedric looked up and down the narrow beam of light and the golden bead and said, quietly, "Hold on, Harry."

Its voice was distant and echoing, but it was there. Voldemort even looked shocked, and the Death Eaters were shouting. There were more screams of pain from the wand and then came the dense shadow of a small head, a man forming in the darkness, a man Harry had once seen in a dream... And he surveyed the thread of light that still connected Harry and Voldemort, and the golden light, and spoke in astonishment. "He was a real wizard, then?" he said, his eyes on Voldemort. "He killed me, that one did. You fight him, boy... You fight him."

Already another figure was emerging. The body of a woman... It was Bertha Jorkins. She surveyed the battle with keen eyes. "Don't you give up now!" she told Harry sharply. "Don't let him go, Harry! Don't let him go!"

The three shadowy figures began to move around the golden web of light, the Death Eaters flitting around the outside of it. And Voldemort's victims whispered as they encircled the duellers, and Harry could hear his sister's voice too... "My wand," her voice seemed to say from far away. "Help me, Harry. Beat him, and help me. It's going to be okay."

And the others all whispered encouragements to Harry as Calla's voice faded away, and they hissed insults at Voldemort which Harry could not hear.

Another head was emerging from Voldemort's wand, and Harry knew who it would be before she even emerged. A woman he knew and should have known more, who he had thought of so many times tonight. It was his mother who emerged, but the ground and then straightened up, looking right at Harry, and then around to Calla, and then back to Harry. He could not see the colour of her eyes but he knew their colour, saw them every time he looked in the mirror. He was shaking madly now, as he looked into the face of Lily Potter. The gentleness of her was so much like Calla.

"Your father's coming now," she told him, "he wants to see you... It will be alright now... hold on..."

And he did. First his hair, and then his body, and Harry knew his face just as he knew his own. He fell to the ground and straightened like his wife. He walked towards Harry carefully, and lowered his voice to speak in his ear, so that Voldemort could not hear. "When the connection is broken, we will linger for a few moments," he told him. "But we will buy you some time... You must get to Calla and get back to the Portkey... It will return the two of you to Hogwarts... do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said, now struggling to keep ahold of his wand and himself.

"Harry," Cedric's voice said, "take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents."

"I will," Harry promised, face screwed up in concentration and effort. "I will."

"Do it now," said his father's voice. "Be ready to run... do it now..."

"NOW!" Harry yelled. He pulled up his wand and the golden thread broke apart, the golden web shattering.

He ran like he had never run before, zig-zagging desperately and avoiding the many Death Eaters, rushing to his sister's body, picking her up unsure if she was even still breathing - she was so cold and so still - and dragging her along, shoulders straining. "Stop him!" Voldemort's voice bellowed and bright red lights fied the clearing. "Take the girl!"

He dove behind a statue of an angel, pulling Calla with him to hold her tightly. Her head lolled onto her shoulder. He shuddered as spells blasted the headstone apart. "Impedimenta!" he bellowed, freeing one arm to send a spell flying past the edge of the angel. He picked Calla up and jumped over the cup, hardly daring to look back over his shoulder. Jets of light flew over his head, something hit Calla's foot and made her convulse, and Harry withheld a cry of fear as he grabbed Cedric's arm. His sister slipped and he tried to keep ahold as she stirred, letting out a groan of pain. She was shaking like mad.

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!"

Harry's hand closed around Cedric's wrist. One tombstone still lay between him and Voldemort, but the cup was so far away and he couldn't carry both Cedric and Calla. They slipped in his grasp. Voldemort's red eyes gleamed in the darkness. Heart in his mouth, Harry pointed his wand with a free hand, Calla slipping from him as he tightened his grip around her waist and held Cedric's wrist tightly, as the cup soared through the air. His sister's scream tore through the air and he fumbled, as a Death Eater shot a curse towards him and another reached out his hands, clamouring at the air and then at his sister. He grabbed the cup by the handle.

Voldemort screamed in fury as Harry felt a jerk behind his navel that meant he'd caught it, that the Portkey was taking him back. But he felt Calla slipping, felt someone yanking her back as Harry spun away. But he couldn't let go, couldn't reach behind to pull her with him.

Xx

Sometimes Muggles said that when you died, or were about to die, your life flashed before your eyes, all of your memories. But Calla hung suspended not in darkness or in memories, but in a bright white, hollow space. Faint silver shapes lingered at the edges of her vision, like the figures in the shadowy cupboard she'd been so afraid at nights when she was young, but they did not scare her. She was not dead yet. She knew that as she pressed her palms together, as she shook her head, as she wriggled her feet. Not dead. Not yet.

She was alone in this ghostly place, except for a shadow that lingered at her back. When she thought about it, it made her hurt. At the edge of her vision, it was not only lone figures that wandered, but a haze of images. She tried to step forward towards the one before her and felt her foot slip through the floor like it was a cloud, and then she was on the hard tarmac of Privet Drive. Her cheek wasn't grazed or bruised, though she had certainly landed on it.

This wasn't real, then. Obviously, whispered a voice from the sky. It sounded weirdly like Dudley. She watched the door of Privet Drive, sitting cross legged on the middle of the road; there were no cars, but when Mrs Figg's cat ran towards her Calla found herself levitated almost pleasantly into the air, making space for her. It was like a vision, but... weirder. When she moved, her movements didn't feel like her own. Rather, it was like something was controlling her, with invisible strings from the sky. She watched the door with interest for a couple of minutes before she tried to get up, and then felt herself yanked into the garden, crushing Aunt Petunia's flowers as she stumbled to her feet. They sprang back to life the moment she moved off of them.

The door opened, Dudley hurrying out, and then the world turned and the sky darkened. She shivered, frozen suddenly, as she heard wailing and hissing and the rattle of terrified breath. Mine, a voice whispered in her ear and she whirled around, the oppressive darkness closing in air her, and when she stepped off of the grass she fell through the road again.

She was in that white place again, except colour was starting to bleed into it, images blurring together. Sirius was in a dark room, falling, smoke clouding him; Remus was bent over, his face contorted and held in a scream, cheek scarred and torn; and the Dark Mark rose emerald and terrible above the highest tower of Hogwarts, and against even the night it seemed to cast a shadow. Green light blazed around her then, a wind picking up, and she ran, seeing that mark come closer. Red ran across her vision like blood, she heard the muffled sounds of her brother's voice as golden tendrils rippled through the air, wrapping around her and pulling her down.

Not real, she repeated to herself as she fell. Not dead. Not yet.

Tom Riddle was approaching her, a sinister shape against the lights, but he was shadowed by something else, someone else, greater and larger and darker. She didn't have to see his face to know who it was; the creature the boy would become. Something seemed to follow at her back, cold and damp as it reached over her shoulders and arms. She found herself reaching forwards, questions and insults and protests all hot on her tongue, but she choked on every word, scared even in her vision. All she could ask was, "Why?" and then everything raced around her in a blur.

People mourning in dark cloaks, a shadow falling over a shining city, the drag of the Dementors against a watery sun, Moody's scarred face and whirring blue eye, something menacing there, and then Snape's black eyes glinting, Trelawney wrenching out a sob, silver steam rising through the air, and spells, always, ricocheting around her. The magic was oppressive and suffocating, spellfire forming ropes around her throat. She reached for her wand but there was nothing in her pocket, and her hand fell right through it the same way, leaving her stumbling and gaping. Show me something useful, she thought to herself, reaching towards the haze in her peripheral, and then found herself shaking. She had to push through it herself, she realised. This was her mind - at least, she hoped it was - and she had to take control of it. Had to bend what she was seeing to her will, and bend the limits of what she could see.

She imagined the silvery haze forming and twisting, the fog clearing and retreating. She reached forward, the shadow and fear at her back relenting for a moment. It was strange. She felt almost at peace until she saw what the mist had been shrouding.

Her brother lay there. The white ground around him was solid, and he was so pale, green eyes - so, so like her own - closed, and his body stiff. His lips were blue, and that scar on his forehead was gone, faded like the rest of him.

She screamed and she didn't know if she screamed outside of her vision but she was screaming in this one, and she recoiled and she stumbled back and then from her brother's body rose another figure, wreathed in smoke but becoming more solid, coming towards her, pale faced and red eyed, beckoning her with a pale, spidery finger. The world around her clouded and she willed herself to run from it, for her mind to show her something else, anything else, and she leaned back and she fell.

She twisted in midair, slamming onto the ground, feet first. This wasn't anywhere she knew. The world around her had a pale, almost pearly sheen to it. Even the figures by her were hazy, and they kept moving, blurring from eight to six to three to five, changing all the time. A door before them opened, one she hadn't seen before, and she heard someone familiar screaming and her stomach lurched.

But the room before them beckoned her. She could hear whispering all around her, and the same haze that accompanied her visions was cast all around her, trapped in tiny spheres that were like crystal balls but not. She knew the difference. Her breath caught in her throat as the other figures disappeared and she was left alone to run her fingers over the tall shelves, to lean into this world and this blue light. It felt like a home. She never wanted to leave. To live here in this place, away from pain and fear and the creature who had put her here, would be bliss.

The end of the corridor beckoned her. Her finger slipped against one of the warm spheres of light, surprisingly pleasant to the touch, but her knees gave out and something propelled her forward. Shouts from the distance. She ran, ran as fast as she could as the world rained down around her and then she came to a door and then she fell into a sea of gold light, dancing all around her, and she saw her brother's face and she whispered, "Help," and then she fell into the warm glow of the sun and hit something hard.

She tried to move, drag herself upwards, but she didn't know what was real and there were voices around but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Calla lurched to her feet, struggling. Her brother was holding her and he was running, but she was barely aware of the world. She could feel herself slipping. She had to do something, had to move, and she didn't know where he was going. Something seemed to be pulling her back, repelling her from her brother. A spell hit her, sending fiery shooting pain up her leg, wracking her body. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Harry grabbed Cedric, and they lunged for the abandoned cup - the Portkey - but blinding pain shot through her scar, the world swimming. Someone else's hands wrapped around her arm and she slipped from Harry's gasp, shrieking as he disappeared.

"No!" she screamed as she sank onto the grass. It felt like her heart was about to tear from her chest. "Harry! Harry!" He was gone. He was gone. "Harry!"

Cold fingers wrapped around her wrist and she shuddered, every part of her shaking. "Harry!"

"Your brother is gone," Voldemort hissed, pulling her towards him. She struggled, but every touch of his made her feel weak. "He has escaped me yet again..." His voice was almost taunting. She wanted to run, but her legs didn't seem to work. The words, you're going to die you're going to die ran over and over in her head. "But if I cannot kill him, I will have you. Perhaps he will return for his sister... Or perhaps not." He would, he would. He had to, but how could she ever hope for him to return here, to Voldemort? "I will still have one prize from this venture. Tell me, Calla Potter." A jeer went around the shadows of the graveyard. "What can you See?"